


Fluttering Leaves

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding, Drabble Collection, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Fantasy, Feral Behavior, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mates, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Obsessive Behavior, Omega Sansa Stark, POV Theon Greyjoy, Possessive Behavior, Protective Starks (ASoIaF), Romance, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark-centric, Theon Greyjoy Lives, Theon Greyjoy is a Gift, Theon Greyjoy-centric, True Love, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Starks (ASoIaF), Winterfell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: Crack!A twig snapped underfoot.Her eyes widened. His grip slipped.And overhead the sparrows cried as they took to the skies.“Don’t be afraid – “ Theon dropped his quiver to the ground, as he sank to his knees before her. It was only her; it was only him, with the animals of the forest hiding their faces and their young. It was everything he'd dreamed of, yet her shaking form made his heart ache. “Please.”Werewolf AU | Theon brings Sansa, his childhood friend and intended mate, home.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 8 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Quiver
> 
> I'm a little behind with Inventober but I haven't given up (yet)! After reading angst-filled theonsa stories, I wanted to write something lighter for this pairing. They deserve an AU without Joffrey or Ramsay or Petyr lurking around...
> 
> There won't be infidelity either, and I don't intend for the story to have more angst than in the first chapter. Pinky promise. :) 
> 
> I'm going to write more drabbles for this story, though each will vary in length. I hope that you enjoy this story, and continue to stay safe and well. Thank you for reading, everyone. 🎃🍂🧡

_Crack_!

A twig snapped underfoot.

Her eyes widened. His grip slipped.

And overhead the sparrows cried as they took to the skies. “Don’t be afraid – “Theon dropped his quiver to the ground, as he sank to his knees before her. It was only her; it was only him, with the animals of the forest hiding their faces and their young. “Please.”

She looked back over her shoulder before looking toward him again. He knew that she wanted to run, every instinct he had warned him that she would flee. He lowered his shoulders and made himself small and placid.

‘ _Trust me_ ,’ he wanted to say. He didn’t.

He ached to spread his arms wide and have her throw herself into his hold as if she knew that she would be safe with him. He felt copper on his tongue and held himself still.

Patience wasn’t in his blood – none of their blood. The old magic that gathered around their families; the Starks, the Greyjoys, the Umbers, and Mormonts, and every man and woman that claimed Snow as their lineage. They all had beasts inside them, ones that shared the same heart and mind, and made them vicious where they were apt to be kind.

Some were alphas, demanding, and restless, with their nature inclined toward possessiveness. Some were omegas, ones that were soft and needed protection, while others still were betas. The last were believed to be the freest, with their lives ruled entirely by their personality and their will, and not their type.

Theon was an alpha and knew by her scent alone that Sansa was an omega, though he knew he would feel the same, even if they were both betas. He wanted to cradle her close and nuzzle his cheek against hers and make her his own.

He wouldn’t claim her there, perhaps he would _never_ claim her –

He had to take her home to Winterfell, first.

He ignored the rapid thrumming of his heart, as his gaze rose to meet hers. “You’re safe,” Theon whispered, “You’re here, Sansa, with me.”

She struggled to find the words to say, having forgotten the sound of her very voice. “W…Who are you?”

Her brother? Her almost lover?

He couldn’t remember the time in his life when he wasn’t a ward of the Starks. He took to their eldest son, Robb, who was only a year older than he, almost as much as he took to their eldest daughter, Sansa. By the gods, how his heart stuttered when he thought of her; it always had.

They would laugh and play together; Theon allowing her to weave him flower crowns and sang love songs with him. They were children then, children that had never felt the mating call until they embraced what they were.

“A friend,” Theon said, ignoring the catch of the words in his throat. “My name is Theon. Theon Greyjoy.” 

He wanted so much more, and she had felt the same. He never looked at another when he was beside her, nor did he wish to. She was the only one to know his name and his face, and the desires tucked away in his heart. They whispered their secrets beneath the moonlight and pledged themselves to one another –

Only when the Change came, Sansa had taken into the woods and had lost herself to terror. The beast – the wolf – inside her was too strong and made the world around her hazy. She fled in her wolf form to the despair of her pack, and none had been able to find her.

For two years, Theon searched every thicket and hidden path and knew only the moon for company. He strayed far from Winterfell and the snow-covered land, to the Vale and its abundant fields, until he found himself near the Tyrells and the vast woods that made up their lands.

He wouldn’t rest until he found her, he _couldn’t_ rest. Sansa filled his every waking thought, his scattered dreams the same. Was she hurt? Was she okay? Did she remember her family and their home, where the halls were filled with her ghost, and the scent of roses that clung to her? Lord and Lady Stark rarely smiled and never laughed after she vanished, and her siblings turned as solemn as Jon.

Did she think of him, as he thought of her?

“Will you hurt me?” Sansa asked, her lower lip trembling.

She had lived alone for more than she could remember; the memories of her past a mess of colors and names and touch that she cherished. Tears gathered in her eyes as she realized how alone she was, with only the sounds of the forest to comfort her.

She had little idea of how much time had passed since she began to wander. She followed the moon and the stars and slept when the sun rose. She wove a bed of leaves to sleep on in caves, though she awoke in her wolf form more than not. She ran and ran until she could wash; often plunging her bloodied hands and face into a cold stream, or filthy pond.

She’d lost who she was and what she was, with her survival at the forefront of her thoughts. She strayed far into the woods, keeping far away from hunting parties and any hint of villagers. She took comfort in the scent of flowers, once rejoicing when she found a field full of them.

She'd thrown herself amidst them and rolled on her back until she couldn't help but laugh as if she were as free as the birds that soared high above her head. She hadn't paused to consider what she was looking for, or where she belonged, for when she tried to, she only felt panic.

And a fierce, horrid longing for _home_.

“ _Never_ – “Theo swore, “Never, Sansa. I’ve always wanted to keep you safe.”

He threw his quiver into the bushes, the few arrows he carried spilling from it. He used them during the day when he abandoned the form of a wolf and took to hunting rabbits and squirrels and stored the berries and mushrooms, he found into the aged quiver. It was one that Lord Ned had used as a boy before it was given to him in turn. (" _Bring her home_ ,” Lady Catelyn whispered, “ _Please, Theon_.”)

Sansa relaxed a fraction, her gaze never leaving his.

“No one can protect anyone,” she whispered, pink bleeding on to her cheeks. Theon kept his gaze from straying; though she was as naked as a babe, without any notion of shame. She traveled through the woods on bent knees and hands that bore scrapes and scars. Her hair was fire kissed and flowed free from the braids she had always worn as a girl and was entwined with leaves.

She was prettier than anyone Theon had ever seen.

A memory came to him unbidden then, of the time he chased her into Winterfell’s springs. She was light on her feet, for all the praise that was given to Arya and her feline grace.

Sansa had weaved around the rocks before splashing through the water, laughing as Theon rushed behind her. She ducked near the waterfall and plunged into the water, and he had imitated her; only he found himself gasping as water filled his lungs, while Sansa had remembered to keep her mouth closed.

“ _Silly, Theon_!” she’d cried after he surfaced, and clung to her side. “ _You can’t breathe with your mouth open, not if you’re under the water_.”

They both laughed, despite how his cheeks flared and the embarrassment he felt. Sansa surprised him as all the Starks did, with more to them than anyone would ever know. They were a family far more than the Greyjoys or the Lannisters were, with familial love in their veins, and pride in their hearts.

Robb would assume leadership when Lord Stark passed, with Bran and Rickon and Jon supporting him. Arya was wild and free, while Sansa was as pretty and as sweet as one could ever be. They were unassuming yet overwhelming when one considered the Starks as a whole; for they truly lived by their motto.

_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

It was a motto the Greyjoys would never consider as their own, as divided as his family was. It was a private shame, a private sin that weighed on Theon’s shoulders, as he considered his sisters and his mother nothing but strangers. It was the Starks that he knew, and the Starks that he respected and ached to follow. He was a mere pup when they made him their ward, and every memory he had was entangled with them.

With Sansa, and every smile she had ever given him.

“Aye. I failed you before,” Theon agreed, slowly leaning toward her. He made himself small and slight, the same as a leaf underfoot. “I won’t ever again.”

Like a bird with a broken wing, she didn’t trust him.

No -

He was larger than she was and faster, and the intensity in his eyes unnerved her.

Or did they make her feel safe? For she’d seen his gaze before, in her dreams, in the ones she felt very, very safe…there was truth wrapped around lies, ones that made her falter.

Childish words rose to her tongue, ones that she longed to believe in. “Do you promise…Theon?”

She heard his choked answer, as her hands slipped into his.

_Yes, yes, yes_ –

Their fingers entangled, and they met each other there, disregarding the cold breeze and the moss beneath their knees. They were wild then, and soon they would be free.

“Let me take you home, sweet girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly and Redbirdblackdog and IHeartBadGuys, thank you so much! You both were so helpful and made this chapter much better than it was originally. 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 8 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Map
> 
> This is an entirely self-indulgent theonsa AU and I'm living for it. Theon and Sansa deserved better than their canon story (though I think that's true for most characters in GoT) and it makes me happy to write this - I hope that you guys enjoy reading it!
> 
> Thank you so much! Next chapter: Sansa's POV... 💗🌺

“Shh,” Theon soothed, as Sansa keened in her sleep.

She was restless and uncertain, her arms wrapped around his abdomen and her cold nose pressed against his chest. She was unused to a pallet, even one hardly stuffed with straw; previously only using hard rocks and piles of leaves, and moss for her bed.

His fingers drew across her skin, from the curve of her shoulder to her exposed collarbone. Theon swallowed thickly, aching with desire. His mating gland was inflamed and raw, as he dragged his jagged fingernails across it.

_She isn’t yours_.

The words were bitter on his tongue, the same as the lemon cakes that Sansa loved. Theon closed his eyes as he wished for sleep while ignoring the fleas that nipped and played with his skin.

He remembered how she was as a girl, one that was only a handful of moons younger than him. She had stars in her eyes and loved nothing more than to hear stories of a knight and his lady. She wept when the stories ended with a lover’s death and cried when the lovers remained together.

She was a lady at three, her mother said, and her Septa rarely scolded her. Arya was a different story, loud and brash where Sansa was quiet and demure. Arya was reckless and brave, and Theon heard Ned remark that she was the image of his sister, Lyanna.

A true wolf, a blessed Stark, one that all of Winterfell favored.

Everyone knew it.

Sansa told him once, and only once, how deeply she envied Arya. “ _She can do everything that I can’t_ ,” she whispered, as his hands cradled her reddened cheeks. It was the first and only time she vented her feelings about Arya to him. “ _She can be noisy during prayer and climb a tree while tearing her furs and her stockings to shreds. Could you imagine if I did that_?”

And like the others, Theon couldn't. Sansa was never one to break the rules, nor jostle and fight as her siblings did. It was difficult to find fault with her, and she was often forgotten in place of the others. She was the same as the stained glass that decorated Winterfell; pretty and bright, and as quiet as the stone laden walls.

Only she was more than that, as Theon drew his gaze to his sleeve, where she had stitched dire wolves. Sansa could sew and embroider with a skill that surpassed her mother, as well as her Septa. Theon knew for a fact that she had made Arya more than one pair of breeches to wear beneath her dresses and made them with great care.

And it was Sansa’s arms that her siblings often sought when Rickon awoke crying from night terrors, or Robb injured himself while hawking. Theon had brooded with jealously when Sansa taught Jon how to dance, patiently rehearsing steps with her cousin, repeatedly. And when Bran was crippled during a hunt, his legs ruined; it was Sansa that sat near his bed, reading their beloved stories aloud, and dabbing his forehead with damp rags. She was a constant presence, sweet and lovely. 

Like a gaping wound, the Stark family had never recovered from the loss of her.

Theon shifted on the pallet bed, careful not to jostle the woman in his arms. He’d wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, hiding her nude frame from the world, when they left the forest. She was fraught with nerves as they took to the road and had violently trembled when he found an inn for them to spend the night.

He spoke little to the innkeeper, plying them with coin for a room and meager bits of meat, a stale loaf of bread, and sour mead. When Sansa struggled to use a knife to eat with, he fed her by hand; lifting the pieces to her as if she were a child. It was all that he could give, but he felt flutters in his chest when her eyes rose to meet his.

“ _T…Thank you_ ,” she whispered, and he nodded in reply.

He refused to think what Lady Catelyn would say if she ever knew, nor of the impropriety of sharing the same inn room. It was a matter of necessity, over pride, or politeness.

Theon remembered how his change had affected him so; for weeks he’d spent weeks in his chambers, and only felt human after the full moon passed. Robb and Jon were supportive, having had their changes before he, and understood well enough. The Change took as much as it gave, and Theon pained at the thought that Sansa had endured it alone.

No one guided her through the Change, and Theon doubted he could properly teach her while they were on the road. He whispered for her to stay in her human form, even as she trembled on two feet, and clung close to him. He knew how word often spread throughout villages, of hideous creatures and terrifying beasts that walked on all fours. There were lords without the history of the great families, lords that were eager to hunt unnatural beasts and hang their pelts above their fireplaces. 

If word spread of a woman that could turn into a wolf and vice versa, he feared the fallout from it. They simply couldn't afford the attention, not until they'd crossed into lands that were loyal to the Starks alone.

“Never again,” he promised, inhaling her sweet scent. She smelled like the forest, wild and free, with notes of jasmine and autumn leaves. She’d only stopped pacing when he drew her into his arms, as slowly and gently as if she were a child. Every instinct he had urged him to keep her close, where he knew she would be safe, and sound.

He wanted to wrap her in furs and feed her tender pieces of fruit by hand. He wanted to hide her away in a home that rivaled the Red Keep in finery and bar the world from their door. He wanted countless, impossible things that made him want to gnash his teeth and forget his heart, for Sansa was never his alone.

She had a name and a family, one that desperately wished for her return. Her body, her heart, her soul…none of it was his to behold.

They never were, _until –_

_Unless_ –

She invited him in.

Sansa murmured in her sleep, burying her head against his shoulder. His feelings had never changed toward her, nor did he ever believe they would. Theon never wanted to leave Winterfell, as long as he could serve the Starks, for where else would he go? He knew no home except Winterfell and had few dreams that he believed in. His place was well established in the pack, as he was one of their best trackers; his sense of sight and smell keener than most.

Nor was he as bloodthirsty as Arya was when they took to the hunt. Theon smirked at the idea of Arya tracking Sansa instead of he, for she would have hunted every animal that strayed across her path. There would have been carnage from Winterfell's walls to the Reach and beyond –

Though perhaps Arya would have been able to clothe Sansa as she deserved.

His smile weakened at that, and Theon glanced at the few coins he had left. The innkeeper was a woman near Sansa’s size, and he could trade her for a dress or two, perhaps some underclothes. Sansa was a Stark and deserved to look like one. He would take care of her, regardless of whether she was his or not. 

_She was_ his instincts insisted. 

He knew his role as alpha, his duty to protect those beneath him. (Arya would have gelded him, had he repeated the words aloud.) Only it was more than that, as Theon knew he would feel the same regardless of his designation. Sans was the only one that he cherished, the only one that he had ever cherished or wished to make happy. Only once had he followed Robb and Jon to their favored brothel near Winterfell. There, he considered taking a red-haired beta, if only to sate his desire –

But he hadn't when he thought of how Sansa had tucked a flower behind his ear and declared him her favored knight. The thought had turned his stomach at the idea of taking a whore, and he'd paid the woman for nothing beyond a few words of pitiful conversation. He’d said nothing to Robb or Jon about it, the same as he refrained from hinting about his feelings for Sansa.

He knew his place as the Stark ward; he couldn’t touch where a nobleman could, nor could he look past his station. He was barred from becoming the Greyjoy heir, a position better enjoyed by his sister. He was nothing outside of what the Starks decided and had abandoned his familial ties years before. Sansa was someone he would never have, unless she remembered their friendship, and wished to renew it still.

Stubbornly, he ignored the tightening in his chest and his aching gland. He was more than his designation.

He was more than his desires.

He _was_.

Theon exhaled before he leaned his head back against the pallet. He wasn't a brute nor a cunt-struck boy, and he wouldn't subject Sansa to his desires. He forced his thoughts to turn to Winterfell and the shortest path that would take them there…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly and MetalVenomLudens, thank you! 🦝🖤


End file.
